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Prologue: By the winter of 1350 It swept the land in an uncontrolled outburst Famine, cold and pestilential misery Surely this must be a divine damnation Punishment from below Be it devil or demon that reaps this cursed nation No one of us deserves suffering thus Oh lord, what have we done Oh God, have you forsaken us? I ride the night air On pestilential wings I am the nightmare That slays your kith and kin I ride your bed at night An incubus so vile My work is seen throughout The smoke of funeral pyres Black rats do my work Punishment begins Cover your face, everyone has heard Here is payment for your sins This epoch you won`t forget You`re burning from inside In the final throes of horrid death The proudest men forget their pride They cry in pain immense Praying to be spared But your god seems not to care Mothers, daughters, fathers, sons All are prey alike Twitching in rotten bowel runs I crave a heavy toll The deadringers sound the bell For all of you who fell I reap the field in rage You scream in mindless fear When gripped in my embrace I purify, you putrefy, the end I provide For your blasphemy, I bring you disease, a funeral feast I take the helm and steer you into, a hellish domain You fall in the streets, succumb in your sheets, diabolic disease And you don`t know why Why your children die And you won`t know why On winds of death I ride Now summer has come over the city Midday heat is low The surviving few bring out their dead A neverending flow... I am the death, upon your black breath, I am black death I am the reason, that children lie crying, watching their parents dying And I am formless, always relentless, something you cannot see And I am evil, I am disaster, I am catastrophe By the end of 1352, two thirds are gone A horrible tale of pestilence and plague, darkness and woe Now I subside, slowly die out, yet I have won But I will return, in futures to come, in different forms Philip von Segebaden Stockholm, `97
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